A lengthy discussion Ensues; and it's settled That they're not to blame For the deed of the traitor: 'Twas serfdom's the fault. 230 For just as the big snake Gives birth to the small ones, So serfdom gave birth To the sins of the nobles, To Jacob the Faithful's And also to Gleb's. For, see, without serfdom Had been no Pomyéshchick To drive his true servant To death by the noose, 240 No terrible vengeance Of slave upon master By suicide fearful, No treacherous Gleb.
'Twas Prov of all others Who listened to Grísha With deepest attention And joy most apparent. And when he had finished He cried to the others 250 In accents of triumph, Delightedly smiling, "Now, brothers, mark _that_!" "So now, there's an end Of 'The Hungry One,' peasants!" Cries Klímka, with glee. The words about serfdom Were quickly caught up By the crowd, and went passing From one to another: 260 "Yes, if there's no big snake There cannot be small ones!" And Klímka is swearing Again at the carter: "You ignorant fool!" They're ready to grapple! The deacon is sobbing And kissing his Grísha: "Just see what a headpiece The Lord is creating! 270 No wonder he longs For the college in Moscow!" Old Vlass, too, is patting His shoulder and saying, "May God send thee silver And gold, and a healthy And diligent wife!"
"I wish not for silver Or gold," replies Grísha. "But one thing I wish: 280 I wish that my comrades, Yes, all the poor peasants In Russia so vast, Could be happy and free!" Thus, earnestly speaking, And blushing as shyly As any young maiden, He walks from their midst.
The dawn is approaching. The peasants make ready 290 To cross by the ferry. "Eh, Vlass," says the carter, As, stooping, he raises The span of his harness, "Who's this on the ground?"
The Elder approaches, And Klímka behind him, Our seven as well. (They're always most anxious To see what is passing.) 300
Some fellow is lying Exhausted, dishevelled, Asleep, with the beggars Behind some big logs. His clothing is new, But it's hanging in ribbons. A crimson silk scarf On his neck he is wearing; A watch and a waistcoat; His blouse, too, is red. 310 Now Klímka is stooping To look at the sleeper, Shouts, "Beat him!" and roughly Stamps straight on his mouth.